Sister
by AstoriaGrace
Summary: Harry goes to Number 12 Grimmauld Place to 'talk' to Sirius Black, but ends up meeting someone else who is just as in need of comfort as he is. (Short story, post OotP.) Complete


Sister

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 _A/N: Here's a very brief, very fluffy short story. Post OotP—Harry goes back to Number 12 Grimmauld Place to 'talk' to Sirius Black._

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I stare listlessly into the fire, my eyes burning like the orange flames dancing before me. Why does this all hurt so bad?

The house is empty aside from the occasional stray Bogart lurking in some neglected upstairs nook, and the sour paintings on the walls. I wish that it wasn't always this way—I wish with all my heart that humanity never failed, never died or withered. Sirius laughed as he fell, his dark eyes shining in exhilaration. Dumbledore's words come flitting back to me, like a weak ghost of five years past.

After all, to the well-organized mind, death is nothing but the next great adventure.

I'm not sure if my godfather's mind was well organized, but it must have been, for he saw death as an adventure. I wish that I could do the same. When I think of my uncertain future, all I know is darkness and confusion. I will not cry, for tears will not come. I'm filled with a yearning and a hollow sense of detached remorse. I'm not sure anymore if the death was my fault… though I know that I did fail to avenge my godfather.

"Hey Sirius. I don't know about you, but I'm not doing so great." I say aloud, ignoring the bothersome thoughts hissing to my brain that he's gone. Dead and gone- unable to hear me when I speak, and unable to understand the agony I feel. "I miss you, Sirius." I dust off my hands, debating whether to stay or leave.

Suddenly, a creaking noise causes me to freeze. I slow my breathing, holding myself alert beside the fire as the front door slams shut. A soft squeak of surprise is followed by a shower of noise and crashes in the hallway, before a well known figure peers around the doorway and into the kitchen.

"Wotcher, Harry."

Nymphadora Tonks looks tired and ill. I'm only able to recognize her by her familiar eyes- her hair is a limp mousy brown and her skin is grey tinged. "Hey, Tonks. Did you come to say goodbye too?"

She nods slowly, walking across the room and plopping onto the floor beside me with a hollow sigh. "He was an incredible man. I only wish that I could have done more- I don't know what, but I can't help but feel that I failed him in some way." She scuffs at the hearth with her booted foot, kicking a few charred wood chips to their fiery death.

"I know exactly what you mean." I can't bring myself to look at her unhappy face, or the expression of regret that passes over it as I speak.

"Oh- Harry, I'm sorry. You did every possible thing that you could! This isn't your fault in the least. Listen, maybe you shouldn't focus on this- you look a bit strung out."

"So do you." I snap, my heart brimming with bitter defiance. She doesn't know what she's talking about! It _was_ my fault- and I should man up to the responsibility of my failures. "Why do you even care, anyway? How was this any of your business? You didn't even know Sirius that well!" I regret my angry words, just not enough to apologize.

Tonks moans softly under her breath. "I care because you're like the little brother that I never had. Every since I met you, I knew that you were an incredible young man with the weight of the world on your shoulders. I haven't experience that kind of responsibility before, but that doesn't mean that I don't understand what it's like to loose a loved one. I did know Sirius Black, Harry. Perhaps not as well as you did, but I still loved and respected him." I open my mouth, but close it quickly, feeling lost. "Hey, does anyone know that you're here?" Tonk's hand comes to a reassuring rest on my shoulder, and I close my eyes in exhaustion.

"No, I don't think so." She nods slowly, gazing into the firelight with her limp hair covering half her face. "You know, you're like family to me as well, Nymphadora."

She manages a half smile, her eyes lightening slightly as she turns to face me. "Don't call me Nymphadora." She whispers.

"Alright then, Sister."

She grins for real this time, enveloping me in a soft hug smelling of the windy night sky. I'd almost swear that her mousy hair turns just the slightest shade brighter as we pull apart.


End file.
